A Night By My Fire
by Itzy Strange
Summary: Of all the people to be dragged into Crane's courts never, never, did Bane expect to see her.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the DC universe.**

**Chapter 1**

A slap of water crested her upper thigh, forcing a reflexive hiss past pursed lips once the chill hit her belly. Straining forward as quickly as she could manage, the woman traversed the half-frozen lake shore, the hiss replaced with quite creative profanity once the water saturated her breasts. The following cramp almost stole her breath, but she was close enough to reach forward and fist her hand in the clothing of the massive body floating by.

Her own fingers losing feeling, the woman pulled, yanking whoever he was from the bracken he had been tangled in.

And boy was he damn lucky she had seen him drifting while she was fishing... that was, if the floating behemoth was still alive.

There was no time to check; dead or alive she needed to get out of that arctic water. Hardly sparing him a glance, she hooked her arm around his chest and tugged her cargo to the lapping shore. The beast was massive, his clothing water logged, and dragging him out of the tide was a feat of pure will. It took a few seconds for her to get her fingers under his hood, to push it back and yank down the scarf over his face… only to find some odd contraptions hugging a shaved skull and enclosing the place she need to reach, the man's nose and mouth.

There was no time for delicacy. She ripped at the latches of the apparatus, unsure what it was for, honestly not giving two shits. It got a reaction: the male jerked.

He was alive.

Numb fingers pried apart the stiff plating, an ear was exposed, and gripping the tubes over his mouth she tore it off. The man twitched again. Panting, she rolled him on to his side, certain by his garbled wheeze the giant's lungs were full of water. She stood, and kicked the bastard square between the shoulder blades.

The instant gush from his mouth confirmed her suspicion.

Pressing his back to the rocky shore, angling the man's thick neck, her lips went to his. She gave him her breath. There was hardly a need for compressions before he spit up another wave of water. After clearing his mouth, she breathed for him again.

The man's eyes flew open. An inhalation, rattling and unhealthy, was sucked deep even as she tried to turn him to his side to vomit up the rest. Shifting her feet, loudly cursing him to high heaven, she kneeled behind him, fisted her hand, and began to vigorously rub his chest in hard brutal circles.

So much came up and his color slowly went from purple to a creepy shade of green. Jerking movement became erratic, panicked. A series of racking coughs seemed to push out the last bit of lake water, but the man, the great beast she was trying to tend was far more obsessed with reaching out for the thing she'd pulled from his face than spitting up the fluid.

It was such a strange thing to witness, a powerful man weeping silently, shuddering, and wielding a muscled arm so big it seemed it could break her in two, yet so weak he could not extend it the final inches to take what he wanted.

Her fingers found it for him, batting his away so she might wrap the uncomfortable looking thing back around his head. The way he watched her, the hatred, she almost hesitated, unsure if she would be safe should the strange thing continue to revive him.

But honor mattered.

Pressing the tubes to his nose and mouth she met a wide-eyed death glare, and snapped the last latch into place. A huge noisy breath was immediately sucked deep. Then another, expanding a rib cage so massive, she felt the need to back away. It was not a sensation she humored. Instead she stood and offered a hand. "You lost your footing, stranger."

He loudly cleared his throat, hacking up a lung as he got to his knees and shoved her away, bowed over, clearly struggling.

Finding the rocky shore digging into her butt; cold, sopping wet, and pissed off, she got up and barked, "If you want something to panic about it should be the coming dark; not your fancy helmet."

She knew he was in shock. It was clear from the way he trembled, the settling confusion in his bloodshot eyes.

Her muddy boots came into his line of site. There was hardly any time to snarl before the woman had the nerve to strike him in five concurrent blows on his back. His body reacted and he spit up again, the liquid flowing past the grate over his lips, and landing right on her feet. He wheezed, sputtered, and then the bastard had the audacity to look up and actually growl at her.

"Yeah, fuck you too," she said, cocking her chin once toward the frozen river. "You think I wanted to wade into that shit? Now, get on your feet, or freeze to death and waste the life I just gave you."

Standing, throwing one of her long braids over her shoulder she offered the stranger a hand again, her eyes warning that if he didn't take it she would leave him to die. All the male did was look up at her, as if measuring her, as if debating some great matter. What his eyes found in the appraisal was a filthy wet woman; a woman with mud smeared all over her, frowning at him, her brows drawn together.

She was also shivering.

It seemed as if too much time had stretched, but she waited, her hand extended, her eyes challenging. A paw came up, gripped her about the elbow; she mirrored his hold and he let her help him to his feet. Even with the mask's analgesic it was clear one of his ankles was badly damaged. Eyeballing the forest, seeing the thick of the landscape, Bane understood he would not manage alone.

"Right," she grunted, frowning at his stuttered step and twisted boot. "Put your arm about me."

The damn thing was heavy and he gripped too hard when she huddled to his side and rolled her shoulder, shifting the weight of her rifle to accommodate the press of his body. There was no time for talk, no need in her mind to make any type of introductions, not with the swell of the sun's orange disk descending behind the mountains. She took a step, he followed, allowing her to bear a portion of his weight, and together they moved into the dark of the woods.

The scent of cedar, the smell of cold crushed plant life, it was sharp in each deep inhalation as she cursed him, barking orders that only earned her a death threat of a glare, "Move your ass! We still have half a mile to hike and you're never going to make it crawling like a baby."

The tree line blocked a portion of the biting wind, but the air was still cold; their breath visible. She was sweating into her wet clothing, winded from the labor of dragging the obviously steroid addled idiot up the mountain to shelter.

They crested a rocky summit, the scent of the air took on a fragrance of wood smoke, and she smiled, a thing the man did not see. He did, however, see the small log cabin buried farther up in a copse of trees.

For the briefest of seconds she felt her companion hesitate, looked up to find his eyes locked on her. She met that murderous gaze, fully aware he was thinking of how much bigger he was, how much stronger even injured. Her eyes were black, the pupils almost indistinguishable. It was there he glared, his almost colorless eyes lacking everything hers had in abundance.

Life. The woman was full of life. And she had given a portion of it to him; to a stranger.

There was her home; she had dragged him to the small box made of logs that most likely lacked electricity.

This was not the type of human he was familiar with.

Unfamiliar things were vastly unsettling.

Flexing the arm around the much smaller female's shoulders, Bane sniffed the air in a long pull, the scent of his medication mixing with the smell of her sweat and the fishy waters freezing in their clothing.

She was through being patient. In fact, it seemed patience was not her strong point. A thin shoulder lurched under his arm, gesturing that now was not the time to stop. She was cold, lacked the drugs that had been dampening his discomfort. One curve of his elbow, one wrench, and he could kill her right there, snap her neck.

Bane was tempted. Lodging was waiting; she probably had supplies, first aid necessities… transportation.

Her teeth showed white against the tawny warmth of her skin. "Move!"

An unsteady voice barked through the mask, oddly intoned and not at all what she'd expected. "No one orders me."

She could swear there was an unspoken, _not anymore_, in his statement. A bruised ego was an easy thing to smell on a man.

When she ordered it again her voice was just as nasty and baiting as the first time, "Move, now, or make the way yourself. I'm cold."

Her boots shuffled, he followed in sync, and Bane did move. A few more minutes and she was jerking the latch and kicking the wooden door forward. There was no lock on her house, nothing to keep the dark things out, and even in his weakened state he marveled at it.

The sound of the door banging into the interior wall was nothing to her groan as she sagged, clearly exhausted. Swallowing, she sucked in a breath and shuffled the pair of them through the miniscule living area to where a basic table and chairs were situated across the room beside counter space and a small rudimentary kitchen.

He limped where she led him, leaving a trail of slush and mud on the worn area rug and plank floors. Dumping her ungrateful cargo into a spindle chair, she fell back onto the floor, splayed as she caught her breath.

The remnants of a fire were burning, heating the air, but from the look of ice crusting their clothing it was clear more work had to be done immediately to prevent the sting of frostbite.

Stringy strand of hair escaped a pair of long braids and lay plastered to her sweaty face. She ignored them, and scramble to her knees. Using her teeth to pull off her thick gloves, she spit them to the side and moved as quickly as she could to tear at the laces of the stranger's combat boots. Ignoring the bite of the floor against her kneecaps she yanked, freeing a huge wet foot, throwing the sodden boot behind her before reaching for the man's other foot, the damaged one.

There was no gentle, no concern for potential broken bones; she just took the wet leather, pealing it away to throw where its partner was marking the floor in a puddle. His jacket zipper was yanked down, the garment parted and shoved over the swell of broad shoulders, the woman tugging, pulling, yanking, to get her way and take the damn thing off a brute who was less than useful.

She fought him for the jacket. When he did not obey she kicked his bad ankle and instant pain stopped his resistance. Every layer covering his top half was forced over his head and that strange breathing apparatus, each sodden garment dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

There was no time to recognize the state of the flesh before her, to count the scars or the bruising, or even accept that he was pure muscle with hardly enough body fat to keep him warm. Once he was bare chested she scurried away toward the small couch, snagged a blanket and wrapped it over his shivering shoulders.

"There now." Her voice was softer as the fabric tucked around him.

She went for his belt. He resisted, shivering, when she yanked at the buckle.

"Shy, hmm?" It was mildly amusing. Cocking her lips she pinched him until his hands moved out of her way, teasing, "I have never met a man of your age who didn't want to jump out of his clothes when a woman started to undress him…"

The glare he gave her… it was something to be seen.

"Tough crowd…" she just laughed through her nose and the belt was stripped from the loops. "Well, stranger, I have seen a naked man before. To be honest, you all got the same parts so I promise I won't act shocked if I see your dick."

He was giving her that look again and she was still smirking as his zipper was tugged down.

A moment later her upturned eyes found his but her face was serious, almost threatening. "If you struggle or kick me there will be consequences." Her hand went for the wet fabric at his thigh. Tugging, it took her four or five good yanks to force the wet pants from under his weight. Fisting her hands around the cuff of the garment, she leaned back and pulled until his legs were bare and she was an awkward pile on the floor, again.

"Now since you seem to be the shy type I am tempted to leave you in your drawers…" She looked him dead in the eye as she struggled to get up, "But your balls won't be coming out of your ribcage anytime soon if you don't get warm and dry. Your call."

He didn't answer so she stood quickly. A kitchen towel appeared in her hands, then on his head as she began to dry his mask.

"Take the damn things off!" he snarled, batting her away from the apparatus.

Not at all impressed with his attitude, she tossed the towel aside, reached under the blanket draped from his shoulders, and tugged at the elastic waistband of his briefs. For once he helped her; raising his hips just enough so that she could pull the saturated fabric down his thighs.

"I guess I should have mentioned your testicles from the start… it would have made this a lot easier. And I mean this, cold or no, you're an absolute asshole."

And like that he was dismissed. Her own clothes had to go and there was no point in being shy when she was fucking freezing. Each layer was peeled off even as she moved toward the fire, standing in only her bra and underwear she reached for another blanket, wrapped it around her, and built up the blaze with her free hand. Once new wood caught and flames were building, the woman went back to where he sat too big for his chair, and she reached an arm around him. Without ceremony she took him to the old sofa, sat him before the fire, adjusting the scratchy blanket on his shoulders and adding another to his lap.

She palmed his face, turning his head a little left and right, following when he tried to jerk the mask out of her grasp. "You might have a minor concussion. Your pupils are slightly dilated… Are you in pain?"

"No," the denial was growled but meek.

His good behavior earned him a soft smile.

Standing, she took the same old wooden chair from the kitchen and set it before him, helping him lift his leg to elevate his injured foot, resting it on a throw pillow. "Let's hope it's not broken. Out here you will be in a world of trouble if it is. Not to mention potential pneumonia. Also, try not to die on my couch. You're too fucking big to move by myself and grave digging in this weather…"

And with that she left him and went to the kitchen. From the sofa he heard the telltale click of the gas range igniting. When she reappeared, still wearing that blanket tucked around her breasts, the woman strung a cord from wall to wall, proceeding to hang up their dripping clothes, frowning at the water marring her floor. Looking at him under lowered brows, seeing him watching her, she made it clear she was not at all happy about the state of her home or his part in it.

And what a bizarre home it was.

For starters it was very small. Secondly there seemed to be no modern comforts. No television, no washer or dryer, only a gas range for cooking and lanterns for light. For an American she was very strange. For a young woman she was even stranger.

But she did have something that seemed a saving grace of sorts, at least in his opinion: books.

Mismatched shelves lined the walls of the living room, titles jammed in, spines worn. That was what held his shaky attention as the female puttered around, wiping the mud from the floor and muttering under her breath.

The kettle sang and moments later she reappeared with a steaming cup she tried to press into his hands. Distracted by the strangeness of someone offering him food or water, it took Bane a moment to realize she was already messing with the latches of his mask. He felt the plastic grip on his cheek lessen, realized what she was doing; and caught between balancing the cup and trying to stop her, yanked on her wrist.

She yanked back.

The mask came off and a pained noise passed his lips even as she was pressing the hot liquid to his mouth. The ache in his ankle and spine bloomed. Choking on water heavily laced with honey he trembled and reached beside him where she had let the mask drop to the couch.

She tipped the cup up from the bottom and pressured him to drink more. "Swallow. It will help your core temperature rise."

There was the warmth of water pouring down his face, not only from where the beverage spilled, but from his eyes. He would have done almost anything she demanded at that point, lost in the delirium of unnumbed hypothermia and slave to the old agony mutilating his sense of self. Every last scalding drop was swallowed. When Bane was practically convulsing, her fingers gave him what he wanted, pulling the apparatus back over his skull, latching it as he panted full greedy breaths of what she realized must be nebulized medication that stank of envelope glue.

Standing over him, watching the great beast suck in air, it seemed almost odd that a man who possessed such strength of body could be so very weak. She looked at his swelling ankle and the naked leg stretched toward the fire, then back to eyes that were growing coherent.

She stepped out of the man's reach.

He was calculating something that made her wish she had left him floating down the river. It was his attention on her hair, the way he studied the two thick messy braids hanging to her waist; she knew, in just one look that he fantasied choking her with the ropes.

Almost superstitiously, she stroked her hands down his would-be murder weapon, brushing off some of the collected dirt.

She sneered.

* * *

><p><strong>To those of you wondering if I had another Bane fic in the words... tah dah! The summary is rough and will change.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It wasn't the discomfort of Bane's ankle that woke him, but that of his neck, angled back sharply atop an unfamiliar couch. Sweating under coarse wool blankets and piles of bedding, he fumbled at the cumbersome layers, exposing a damp chest to much cooler air. From the muddled inability to focus his eyes, Bane was certain the mask was holding back a great deal of discomfort beyond simple physical pain.

The foul-mouthed woman was nowhere to be seen. There was no sound of shuffling feet; her jacket was gone.

Pressing palms over raw eyes did nothing to shut out the sharper image of recent memory. Ducard had been clever in his sentencing, in the callousness one would expect from a disappointed Demon Head. One low flying plane, one open door overlooking tundra, and one boot to the chest. All the while Bane had just stood there; too dumbstruck to even flail when Talia's father shoved him into a freefall.

Henry Ducard had thought it through... plotted. If the drop hadn't killed Bane, the encroaching inability to move once the medication in his mask's cartridges ran dry would assure fatality. He'd lie in pain where exposure, wild animals, or simple starvation would finish the job.

But Ra's al Ghul hadn't counted on unsolicited compassion.

If calculations were correct, two weeks of numbing drugs remained. But the pain, this new pain, was nothing compared to what he'd suffer physically.

Everything was lost.

Talia... what would her father tell her? That he'd died serving?... Or would the bastard repeat the word that still burned between Bane's ears. Excommunication, the ultimate shame.

And for what? For wanting to be more than a dog? For despising that Bruce Wayne was to take the position that should have been his in the League and in Talia's affections? It's not as if he hadn't noticed Ducard's growing disregard, how uneasy he was around him ... the quality of missions he was ordered to complete. Bane was never expected to survive the last years, but had. He'd always come back for little Talia. In doing so he'd followed every last rule, exceeded where others had failed... lived the demanding monastic lifestyle required of a dedicated League soldier.

Ducard said kill, he'd ripped the target to shreds with his bare hands. Ducard said steal, he'd dragged back twice as much as he'd been sent for. Ducard wanted interrogation, carnage, anything... Bane had delivered.

Still he'd been banished from the halls when a lieutenant had been chosen, forced to remain unseen and watch from the shadows as Ducard guided Wayne like a son. Worse still was stomaching Talia's admiration of the boy.

"Is he not a fine swordsman?" His girl's voice was taken. She was taken... with another that was not him.

Turning his head to look away from the training, to peer down at the young woman he'd raised, Bane had stared... watching her watch Wayne. "He is not a fine swordsman."

Talia had scoffed. Bane had walked away. Later, when it was dark, she'd snuck to his room and apologized. How it had cut him to realize she'd slunk in and out, no longer proud for others to see her affection for the one whispered to be an animal. She was ashamed of him, the Al Ghul dog that kept coming home where it was no longer wanted. Now put down in the wilds.

Bane could not stand to see his Talia embarrassed, to watch her turn to another. Perhaps it was for the best they'd been separated. She would flourish, be a queen, and he would ... be nothing.

He was nothing.

The latch clicked, the cabin's door swung in. The woman looked up briefly, stomping snow from her boots, and froze when she found him awake. In one arm was a basket of wet laundry, three fresh caught fish dangling from the fingers of the other.

Tossing the catch aside she approached, seeing his color had improved, that his eyes were lucid. "Looks like the fever broke."

She sounded wary and the reason was there in the light purple blotches around one of her eyes.

"I struck you."

A smirk at his word choice preceded, "That you did, pretty boy. You're quite a flailer... fought like the devil each time I took off your mask so you might puke or I might pour medicine down your gullet."

"I did not vomit."

"Sure you didn't." She shrugged and tested his brow. "How are you feeling?"

No one touched him directly, not even Talia in years, and the sensation, the cold brush of foreign fingertips, made him pull his face away. "Fine."

She snorted, just a little, and looked him over with a raised brow. "Four whole words in under two minutes and not one of them a thank you." Ignoring his rudeness she leaned closer and studied his eyes, "Headache, nausea?"

Deadpan, his colorless eyes flat, Bane demanded, "Your name."

"You can call me River." She did not ask his in return.

Eyeing him uncertainly, she reached for fabric hanging near the fire. "I washed your clothes but they won't be dry for a few hours yet." River tossed him his underwear before turning to stoke up the flames. "Those were cleaned in the sink last night, princess. The bathroom is through the door behind you if you want to pull on your skivvies and wash up. Don't be surprised when there's no hot water. I didn't have time to catch dinner and prep the heat pump before the few hours of daylight passed."

With the beginnings of a better blaze building she looked over her shoulder. The man just sat there staring at her skull as if all his worldly troubles she'd dumped in his lap. When he made no move to stand, she frowned. "It's not so bad, you know. You're not the first to get lost. You won't be the last. At least you're alive ... though not out of the woods yet." She leered, mimicking a rim shot. "Get it? Out of the woods?"

His attention went to the fire, the look in his eyes not at all impressed with her stupidity.

Snickering, she went to gut her catch, muttering, "I thought it was funny."

Her jacket was hung on a chair, the exposed limp knit sweater and dirty jeans underneath no improvement in Bane's opinion. In his periphery he watched her yank the entrails out of trout. "You claimed I was ill. For how long?"

Splat went another fishie's insides. "Just the night; you passed out at dawn. I would have stayed with you but I lost my catch yesterday and canned food needs to be saved for bad weather."

"You only caught three."

What was with this guy? Looking over her shoulder, River cocked a brow. "Sorry, I was busy cleaning the vomit you _didn't have_ out of my clothes... not to mention the blood that came down my nose when you clocked me for giving you aspirin and keeping you hydrated."

"You're lucky I didn't kill you."

The fillets were slapped into a waiting skillet, sizzling loud enough she had to raise her voice to spit, "No you just cried like a baby. But if I hadn't taken off your mask you would have asphyxiated. I'm not a sadist; don't think I enjoyed it. In fact, don't think of me at all, and sure as fuck don't thank me!"

Shaking the skillet to keep the fish from sticking, River ignored the man, refusing to flinch when he stood and hobbled nearer. Whatever shyness had possessed him the night before was gone; he was ass naked, unabashed as he leaned against the wall to watch her. It was more than the black eye. His hostess looked exhausted, was still filthy no matter her splashings in the lake.

His throat did feel raw when he spoke. "You haven't slept?"

"No," she snapped. "I haven't slept, sunshine. Sit down, food's ready." Turning with two plates of burnt fish she moved toward the table. "And for god sake stop flapping your uncut dick around in my kitchen."

He seemed unsure. "Uncut?"

God help her, but a nervous giggle escaped at his lack of comprehension. The accent and foreign rumblings in his fever, she knew he wasn't from her hemisphere, but that didn't mean she was going to explain the concept of circumcision to him.

Never fully giving him her back she uncovered day-old fry bread, put down silverware, and plopped into her chair. She was so fucking tired, and the man hobbling closer with his drawers fisted in his hand was making her uncomfortable. When he took a seat and shimmed into the scrap of clothing the anxious pounding in her rib cage lessened and she made herself eat.

He eyeballed the unappetizing food, looking long and hard at her afterward before beefy fingers moved to the mask's latches.

Unsure what the big deal was, River pointed with her fork. "My cooking is pretty hit or miss. 20% hit 70% miss."

For a split second the mask was pulled away, Bane shoveling in as much as he could before shuddering and holding the contraption hard to his face. In a pained voice he grunted, "You are missing 10%."

"The 10% is unmentionable." She took another bite, following his lead and eating quickly. "I would like to blame the gas range but if I did I would be lying."

He'd finished it all in three more repeats of the face stuffing first bites, strapping the mask tightly around his skull. "Have you contacted the authorities?"

"I radioed the Rangers this morning."

She was lying and it was painfully obvious to someone with his training. It was in his favor. His dedication to the League assured he'd be on FBI watch lists... sought by the CIA, Interpol. He could kill the horrid female and no soul would be the wiser.

Imminent incarceration would not be his tomorrow.

The way he stared, so cold, made her nervous. "Your tracks, Stranger, were obvious. Your size, their depth, the fact you walk with a limp. You'd be noticed and this is small country. And, yeah, I'm lying to you. I couldn't get through but that doesn't mean no one has their eye on me."

She had a point. The open shelves were stocked with canned goods, and though she appeared to be athletic under the lumpy sweater, a woman of her size could not carry all that food here alone.

In answer of his further contemplative silence River explained, "No trucks get this deep, you're going to have to shelter and wait for snowfall. With more powder I can take you on my sled. Or, if you want to try the hike it's two days to town. I'll draw a map on the back of your hand and we can see if you have better luck than last time."

"How far? Which direction?"

"Far. East." She gave an apologetic shrug, teasing, "If you leave right now you might make it before the blizzard hits. Clever guy like you did see the sky. You know a storm is coming, right? Options are limited."

Bane said nothing.

"Your mask... the nebulized stuff, how long you got?"

More silence, the dense naked chest across from her expanding in a breath.

She'd seen how necessary the contraption was to him. "Do you need to be airlifted? I'll make the trip alone and notify authorities if that's the case; while I'm gone can keep trying the radio and might get them here sooner."

"I do not require such a measure."

"Will it kill you if you run out? Are you some kind of asthmatic?"

"No." But, should it run out, it wouldn't be long before he'd wished he was dead. "It won't kill me."

Nodding River said, "I scouted the area upstream from where I found you. I didn't find a camp or a pack... nothing. Do you have friends I need to worry about?"

"I have no one." Bane stood, hopping to spare his sprained ankle and bracing against the wall on the way to use her facilities.

When the bathroom door closed she mumbled, "I'm sure you can thank your charming personality for that."

While he was in the bathroom she hung up the laundry, cleaned up the fish guts, and left the couch for the wounded prick, slouching down in a recliner instead. She was reading a worn paperback by the time he navigated all the hanging clothes and reclaimed the sofa.

An hour passed and Bane didn't speak, but he did lean forward and tend the fire in her place when the time had come. When it was done he grunted until she looked at him. "You've seen my face."

If he was trying to rationalize upcoming actions to her it wasn't going to fly. A wink and smirk summed it up before she looked back to the page. "It ain't nothing to write home about, pretty boy. I like my men a bit more roughed up and craggy."

He said nothing, she pointedly picked up her book.

When her eye was on the page Bane felt the need to say, "You believe you are superior to me."

Annoyed he was interrupting her reading she muttered, "You think you're the first renegade I've found skulking around these woods? I know your type, ex-military who think they can go it alone under the impression they're so badass. You can't. This place will kill a fool unwilling to understand just how dangerous it can be. So, yeah; out here I am better than you."

"My survival skills are excellent."

Laughing was flat out mean but, by god, she couldn't hold it in. The book went to her lap and she gave the idiot her attention. "You're delusional! You had no weapon, not even a knife... were dressed improperly for this environment; dumb enough to have considered walking anywhere without basic supplies. If I didn't know better, if I hadn't seen half a dozen men like you trying to go it alone as _Mr. Survivalist_, I would say someone dumped you in the wilds to die."

And they had, she saw it written on his face, the way he looked to the side after her outburst telling. Rubbing her lips together, contrite, River pulled a breath. But her guest remained silent, staring through her again, so still it was abnormal.

Humming, leaning back into the old recliner, she said, "I never could figure them out, you know; people."

It was long minutes before a hoarse question came from the mask. "Is that why you live like this?"

"No, I'm on the run from the law." The wicked teasing, her smile; she wasn't going to tell the truth. The look in her eye also spoke that she wasn't going to ask him why he where he was either. They could call it a wash. She didn't want to know.

"River," he tested her name on his tongue.

She nodded, a tired smirk showing relief that he'd used her name; humanized her. She'd do the same. "There is a herd of caribou... I saw their tracks earlier. We're going to need meat to get us through the coming storm. Tomorrow you will help me carry back a kill."

His ankle was still a pulped mess, swollen and ugly. They both looked to it.

She spoke further, "I'll manage most of the weight, give you a staff to lean on, but you need to find your footing."

"Do you always talk like this, in layers? It is exceptionally irritating."

"English isn't your first language. Perhaps you misunderstand and hear what you want." White teeth flashed in a grin as she laid it out, "You looking to be nurtured or are you looking to survive? I gave you a night to laze by the fire, the rest you earn."

Bane had not been nurtured a goddamn day in his life. Not in the Pit, not in the care of the League of Shadows. No, he'd only been honed, a thing he recognized. Only Talia had ever wanted him and now she was so far from his reach he might as well have died. In a swell of fury he slung his mask toward the nearest thing that could feel it. "I don't need your help!"

"You damn well fucking do." She settled back, the book cast aside so she might sleep.

"Your vulgar language is completely repellent."

River snickered, peeked out one eye and nodded, "There's the spirit. Feel free to call me ugly and disparage my clothes next. Get it all out big guy."

"Women are supposed to be clean and soft spoken! You stink of the burned fish you mutilated with your lack of cooking skills. I have never seen a free thing so low... so mud caked and unconcerned. Who could possibly want you? I DON'T NEED YOUR CHARITY!"

Her black eyes were languid as she let him rant his anger with others at her, patient through it until he raged to the point he stood and towered over her. Under the mask she imagined the man chewing off his own lips he howled so severely at her lack of anything reeking of humanity. She thought he might cry, and waited still, counting the pulses of the veins standing up in his neck.

He did scare her, he was scaring her, but a point needed to be made. The risk she'd taken saving a stranger bigger than a linebacker and as grateful as a psychopath put her in a bad position. Someone had left him to die... good men didn't get dumped in the cold. If he was going to kill her, she'd rather see it face on than wait for him to strangle her in her sleep. But a strange thing happened, when he leaned down, screaming another language in her face, she flinched and it seemed to wake him. Staggering back, he put distance between them... and those strange eyes looked... sorry.

There was no word of apology, just the sounds of a panting animal and the silence of a woman pretending she was not frightened of it. Never show fear in front of a rearing bear. You stand your ground and watch the damn thing... when you're alone later, that's when you get to puke.

He spoke just loud enough for her to hear him, "I don't think I am going to hurt you."

Fuck... "That's reassuring."

"You should have let me drown."

Perhaps he was right; it didn't change what she was. "I could never do that."

"...a noble woman." He said the words with more disgust than admiration.

Levity was her ally, "You forgot to add dirty..."

"It's a wonder you have survived this world."

It was an honest question, "Are we having an actually conversation now, or is this the precursor to something terrible?"

"The only thing I know how to be is terrible."

He was not disparaging himself. The man was, in effect, alluding to some sort of assumed twisted greatness dripping with insecurity he couldn't register.

"Seven hikers I have saved when I found them wandering, or hurt, or about to be eaten by nature they didn't respect as they should have. Twice that number were dead before I came across their tracks. Survivors always have one thing in common; they wanted to live more than they wanted to wallow in their stupidity. If you don't want to live walk outside right now, take all that anger with you. Its dark, you won't last long but the fury might make you think you're warm as you freeze to death."

He paused a moment then took a seat on the couch. "Who would help you carry the caribou?"

Snorting, unable to stop a faint laugh, she admitted, "I'd just cut it up and make more than one trip. When I'm lucky the smarter wildlife doesn't get to it before I get back."

"I will carry the animal, alone."

She gave him a soft look, a look that said she understood he lacked the capacity to apologize, and then she said, "You can't. As you are you can't carry a caribou by yourself. You shouldn't even try; you don't know the way; there is no point in posturing... Not out here. Out here you're nothing... brand new."

The weight of his elbows rested on his knees, the man turning his attention back to the hearth and ending the conversation. Bane didn't think sleep would come, not like it did for the woman breathing softly in her chair. He was weary, too tired to rest, but sleep did come and when he woke she was gone and didn't return until past dark, banging through the door with a brace of rabbits and a bulging pack full of red meat that could have only come from one animal.

"Don't look at me like that, jerk. Your ankle looks like shit. You can't carry shit. All you would do is get in my way stumbling around and scaring off dinner." She was surly... her hair wet as if she'd dunked her head in the river to scrub out the dirt he'd found so offensive. "And you snore!"

The food was stowed and she built up the fire, sending hate filled glares at the man while she leaned her hair closer and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.

"I left the heat pump syphoning and wasted wood so you might take a cozy shower, pretty boy, so stop staring at me and get to it. You reek of sick guy and I'm _sick_ of smelling you."

She'd been so unresponsive the prior evening, so still when he'd grossly insulted her; now she was all claws and hissing. Unsure why, Bane offered, "I should not have said those things."

"Fuck off."

* * *

><p><strong>So I moved... again... this time from the Ozarks to DC. I fell off the grid for a while and boy is it good to be back in civilization!<strong>

**Thank you to every single one of you who reviewed the first chapter. I have big ideas for this story and I am so excited to share it with you. That said, I do need to let you know that on the list of stories I am updating Swallow it Down and my fictionpress original fics are priority. This might progress slowly but I would love to have you along for the ride. Be patient with me and make sure you follow to receive updates. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He needed her.

Assassinations, warfare, violence, and a lifetime in the Pit would not see him through in her wilds. That became clearer when Bane took to the porch, looking for a vantage. Her house stood on high ground, but there was nothing ... not even a line of smoke in the sky in the direction River claimed civilization waited.

The last few hours she'd been far less vocal, busy preparing the house for what the swollen green clouds were bringing. Locking her shutters tight, River looked through the fur lining her hood and asked, "Can you clean a rabbit?"

He could clean a rat; knew what parts tasted best raw. Rabbits could not be much different. "Yes."

Pointing at what she'd dragged home, River ordered, "You take care of that while I check the traps I missed."

"Lingering outside in this weather with wet hair is unwise."

"Oh lah-de-dah." River banged a fist against the shutters, testing their tightness. "So is shaving your head in the artic."

It seemed the stranger was a master at pointing out the obvious, "You are angry with me."

"I don't much like you." She threw him a look. "And there is no need to point out that the feeling is mutual."

"Then I won't."

River chuckled, black eyes shining as if he'd finally succumbed to humor. "When you're done with the rabbits you need to bring in wood. See these piles. One is green, one is seasoned. Don't mix them. Separate stacks each side of the fireplace. As much as you can manage."

With an elk riffle across her back she left him, moving easy and light over the frost in a way he couldn't with his sprained ankle. When she returned with only a few squirrels, her teeth chattering, River opened the door to find she wasn't losing her mind. The appealing scent in the smoke was rabbit, her houseguest having spit one to roast over the fire.

It smelled good. Really good. And the noise of her stomach made it clear her body approved.

Bane watched her entry ceremony, the way she kicked her left boot clean before the right, the tell-tale flakes of snow on her shoulders. All her movements led with the left, including her left hand wiping her running nose, but her gun hung from the opposite side, she was a novice to wear it so wrongly.

But she'd killed a caribou...

All River cared to notice was the juicy rabbit, not the oversized idiot who'd prepared it.

Bane turned the spit, juice dripping to sizzle in the flames.

"Oh my god, please tell me it's ready." Outerwear was shed, River less interested in heating up than stuffing her face with something she hadn't ruined on the stove.

"We may eat."

She was grinning, kneeling at his side to pick at the animal with her fingers and eat straight from the spit.

Bane ignored where her arm kept bumping against him in the woman's enthusiasm, priding himself in his offer, "As you gave me the greater portion of your fish—"

Scoffing, mouth full, River said, "You're about twenty times my size."

He finished as if she had not interrupted, "—you may have most of the rabbit."

Looking out the corner of her eye, River's brows drew together. He was so weird. "I can have more than half of the rabbit I caught?"

Stress was applied to the affirmation, "Yes."

She laughed, really laughed, before she bumped his arm, "You're so generous. Lucky for you, I couldn't eat that much if I wanted to. Help yourself."

Bane's large fingers pulled chunks - not bits, not morsels - huge hunks off the bone and placed them in a stack. Pretending not to notice the abnormal obsession he had with lining up his food, careful to keep her eyes where she was picking the best part of the rabbit to chew, River shifted to give him more room. Just like the last meal, the mask was pulled after a deep inhalation, and all those lumps, in systematic order, were shoved into his mouth.

Behind the mask Bane's cheeks filled up like a chipmunks, and he chewed in time to his strange system, working down that hunk of food without having to pull the mask away again. The ritual was repeated until the two of them had picked the bones bare.

Sucking her fingers clean, River sat back on her heals, and glanced to her unlikely companion. "Thank you."

The twitch in his brow, the way they slightly drew together... the stranger did not know what to make of the statement. His mouth was still full, River's timing intentional, and all Bane could do was look her way.

Unsmiling, not at all playful, she said it again, "Thank you."

He nodded once, earning himself a less hostile expression. Bane's attention went to the darker smear below her eye, the bruise he'd caused. He had to have been weak when she'd seen to him for the mark to be so small, for the socket to be intact. The slope of her nose wasn't broken, it still sat straight, aquiline.

The girl could have killed him.

The way the stranger looked to her face, it wasn't in a judgmental search for beauty, or to make her uncomfortable. River saw it in him, ignorant curiosity, as if the huge man were allowing himself to do something prohibited while they shared a moment of neutrality. It was almost childlike, and not the first time she'd sensed something confused and utterly unknowing in him. So she held still and allowed it.

"Women must look different where you're from."

Bane hardly knew. Sisters in the League of Shadows had been kept away from him, the only woman he'd regularly conversed with, little Talia. The rest he'd seen where on missions; some he'd been sent to kill. And no, they did not look like the almond eyed native with her matching braids - like Tiger Lilly from a book Talia had loved when she was still small. But if he were to say that the hissing female would grow angry again. He was certain.

He had to ask, "The men in this region, do they find you beautiful?"

There was no guile in the question, still it stung. "You'd have to ask them."

"You seem to align with the western concept of exotic." River's lip curled and his attention went to her mouth. Bane answered her sneer, reminding, "You found fault in my face."

The man really had no grasp of sarcasm and she was tired of him. "I find fault in your attitude. Great fault. Massive fault."

Dry, Bane responded, "Platitudes are pointless. Do you really think insincere gratitude will alter the situation? Change what's going to happen to you?"

He had such a knack for making her blood run cold. River's voice went lower, hard, and serious, "I'll tell you what I know. The storm will pass. You're going to leave and it will be as if you were never here."

Bane seemed to consider her words, his arm growing warm from crouching too near the fire for too long. "I could come back."

No, she was certain. "You won't."

A blast of wind screamed past the cabin, the shudders shook, and the storm hit with a vengeance. River dismissed him, settling in her chair after taking a book from the shelves, leaving Bane to burn the bones of dinner and tend the fire while she began a story, reading aloud before he got more ideas of speaking.

It was abnormal, at first, the woman's rendition of a great man's work, more so her skill for voices. Positioning himself on the couch where the most distance was between them Bane rested his ankle, watched the flames, and just listened.

* * *

><p>When the clock showed morning the girl was sound asleep, her nose tucked into a sloppy braid. Bane hadn't slept. He'd managed little more than staring straight ahead at the flames, hating his hostess for drifting off and abandoning the slight distraction her story had offered.<p>

Then hating her more for choosing a book so engaging he desired to know what happened next. More than once he'd considered reaching out, taking her shoulders, and shaking her awake to continue... or shaking her so hard her neck snapped... or wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until her eyes bulged and that damn throat could not make another sound... or scooting nearer to look at her the way he tried not to when her sticky tar eyes met his and puzzled him... because she did not shrink back.

He'd seen so few women.

If they were anything like the specimen trapped with him in a cabin the size of a coffin the idea of encountering more was less than appealing.

The hours wore on. Whatever sleep deprivation she'd suffered was covered for, more than adequately, River almost comatose when Bane eased closer, staring.

Shuttered window's blocked what little sunlight might have broken through the storm, yet he watched the by firelight. Watched the line of illumination creep over the monstrosity huddled in sleep.

Talia had hair a similar shade.

Thumbing the end of the nearest rope, Bane found the texture similar. His little one was fairer, her eyes a pretty blue so rare in his part of the world. Dark eyes were nothing; black eyes behind greasy lids even less inspiring.

Common. The female was common.

Quintessential.

And she lacked the archetype necessary for female survival. She had no male.

There were no man's things visible in her ramshackle cabin, leading her to have an overabundance of masculine qualities to cover for her lack of success in drawing a protector. She'd grown crass. She was foul, unkempt. River was unacceptable to society. That had to be why she lived like a hermit.

Talia would always have protection. Thousands of League of Shadows brothers, even sisters, would lay down their life for her if she so much as batted an eyelash. No one in their right mind would do such a thing for the woman who'd dragged him out of the water.

Bane pulled the overabundance of her braid nearer, disturbed it was so long. The thickness of River's hair did feel like Talia's, but his angel had never grown it so excessively. Not in the Pit when he's kept her head shaved so she might live free of lice, not in the training years when long hair was a disadvantage. She'd only started growing it a few years ago to assimilate into European society for school. University, Ducard had said. Because of the mask Bane had not been allowed to follow.

Too conspicuous.

Like River's over-long hair.

The female moved in her chair, a little disgruntled noise coming from her puckered mouth. Looking down, Bane found he'd coiled River's hair around his fist, that he was tugging it, and dropped the braid like a hot coal.

* * *

><p>River didn't much like the way he grunted at her food. Two mornings in the dark she'd graciously used powdered eggs. That shit was precious out in the boonies. She'd even thrown in some dehydrated cheese and folded the mess to sorta resemble an omelet.<p>

He'd narrowed his eyes.

She'd used salt! Everyone one and their mother loved salt. So what the fuck? So what if his rabbit on a stick had tasted good. What the fuck else had he done but stack wood? Too much wood, she might add. The bonehead had piled two stacks up to the ceiling, creating an accident waiting to happen should any supporting logs decide they no longer wanted their jobs.

Idiot.

"This is adequate."

River held her fork, the poor utensil squeezed in her fist, and fantasized about stabbing him with it. "It's eggs."

The underlying agitation in her voice made no sense to him. "I know what eggs are."

She grit her teeth. "I used cheese."

"The sour additive was unnecessary."

Wondering what the jackass would do if she threw her plate against the wall, River shoveled in the last of her meal, using the distraction of her thoughts to keep her from attacking the moron. When her plate was done she did not throw it at the wheezing idiot's head. Instead she tossed the plastic dish toward the sink and let the ricochet off the wall suffice.

River left the table, unaware of the expression behind the mask. She wanted space, but the howling outside, the fact that twice she'd already dug out the door, reminded her there would be no space.

What she really wanted was a drink.

"Next time you cook, Mr. I'm so fucking perfect at food things!"

"Your arguments are tired and growing far more irrational."

Two days prior she'd worried he was going to kill her; now all River wondered was how long it would be before she killed him. Spinning, looking at the intruder, she said, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get eggs here?"

"No."

"Hard, dickhead. They clump, they sour, they just don't keep."

"I said the meal was adequate."

The small house could not hold such a big voice. "You know what would be a really good idea? Stop saying things!"

"Read another story."

River's furious tapping of her foot stopped. It wasn't the first time he'd asked. Well, ordered was a more accurate description. She knew he knew that it would shut her mouth, that she would take a book and all would settle. Rubbing her lips together, she frowned. The spaced between her brows relaxed and she reached for a hardcover.

Taking a seat in her chair, the looming man shuffling toward the far end of the couch, River opened the book and began. Three pages in that was it. River was going mad. He'd Pavlov's dogs her.

Snapping the book shut she glared. "That was the best I could do. I shared my best supplies."

"_Best_ is subjective to opinion," Bane said. "But I have had much worse."

Elbow to the armrest, River rubbed her face. Statements like that were making her crazy. "Princess, you need to learn some manners."

"Your need to name call is asinine, as is your attempt to degrade me by comparing me to a woman. You are a woman. Your argument only makes you seem even further below me."

It started as cough. The noise caught in River's throat, her face grimace as she tried to keep it down. But she couldn't. Gut busting laughs took over. "You should be so lucky to be a girl! I call you princess because you are so damn snotty with your straight back and holier-than-thou comments. You're a walking cliché."

Bane watched her flush, saw her anger had been redirected, but not the way he was engineering. Growling, he leaned closer, "Explain."

"No."

"Explain."

River simpered, looking at the agitated man and shaking her head no.

"I told you the food was adequate!" Bane roared, standing from the couch.

Less than one-hundred hours she'd been with the man, witnessing reactions and gauging intent. He was as hotheaded as she was, no matter how he tried to hide it under a drying cement personality.

River threw him a bone, far more amused now that he was the angry one, "Learn how to lie."

"If I told you your cooking was good... a lie of that magnitude would serve no purpose. Furthermore, you would know I was lying."

Tugging her braids, River sneered, "It's polite to acknowledge effort."

"What effort?" Bane demanded." You melted snow and added powder until it curdled. I have done more with less."

Rapping her fingers on the armrest, River challenged, "Then, _prince charming_, from now on you cook."

He had been so close to winning; so close to shoving her down. But the woman had just stood up after her mandate and went to the door. Worse yet she'd opened it, flooding the room in wind and snow. When it was closed her jacket was gone, the elk rifle too.

Two hours of dark and River came back, chilled to the bone and empty handed. Bane had made stew. They ate without speaking, the silence only broken by River picking up the next chapter of the story she'd chosen to read.

* * *

><p>The room was dark when he awoke. River was still in her chair, reading aloud, having ignored the fire.<p>

_I have been one acquainted with the night._

_I have walked out in rain -and back in rain._

_I have outwalked the furthest city light._

_I have looked down the saddest city lane._

_I have passed by the watchman on his beat_

_And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain._

_I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet_

_When far away an interrupted cry_

_Came over houses from another street,_

_But not to call me back or say good-bye;_

_And further still at an unearthly height_

_One luminary clock against the sky_

_Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right._

_I have been one acquainted with the night._

The way she read, the oration, she knew each word by heart even though her eyes traced where they marked the page. "That is glorious." She sighed lowering the book to her lap. Head tipped back in the chair she spoke to the air. "I am a dismal poet. I can't see the world the way Robert Frost could."

"Your statement is ridiculous." Bane sneered, highly annoyed there were only coals that he must tend. "That poem sums up things you already know."

"You were supposed to be asleep with all the wheezing and snores." She rolled her head a little to the side to look at his masked profile. "I wasn't talking to you. I don't want to talk to you. Go back to bed."

"If the fire dies you risk freezing to death."

River looked to the hearth and frowned, waking up from whatever had made her voice dreamlike she cursed. Bane watched her scuttle, stacking a large pile straight and crossways so it might burn hottest and longest. There was no flaw, no correction he could offer to make the embers more effective. Striking a match to ignite the top, River's face came more into view.

She looked sad.

"I don't like that face you're making." Bane did not even know why he said it, he just did not want to see her frown, or deal with the screeching that would follow. "It's pointless to waste time on dissatisfaction... with your inability to write like Robert Frost."

She gave him a dazzling smile, Bane was immediately on alert from the rancor under the sweet curve of feminine lips. "Pointless is it?"

Even with the mask's interference he could smell the anger on her. "Yes."

"How would you know? Talking to you is like talking to a child. How could you understand what matters in my life? It isn't pointless!"

The animal growl of, "I am not a child," should have withered the woman he snarled at. It didn't. River was too far in her temper. "You are the one in a tantrum."

"You're right." The statement was shrill and followed with the woman throwing the book of poetry on the building flames... only to suck in a breath and dive in for it when it caught. River beat the cover, almost weeping as she smoothed the charred edges. She said it again in a tone of despair, looking at the book as if she'd wounded her lover. "You're right."

"Give it to me."

River handed it over as if she didn't deserve to touch the pages any longer, watching large hands tug it from her she pulled her knees to her chin. Her eyes did not leave the cover, ruined as it was, while Bane turned the warm object right-way up, thumbed to a random page and began to read aloud so she might keep her feelings quiet and not further poison the air.

He read her to sleep, River sprawled on the floor and too near the flames. He watched to make certain no flying ember sparked her, annoyed, yet grasping the opportunity to see such a thing so near the light. Some details about her were reminiscent of the first woman he'd ever seen - the shade of River's skin similar, the shape of her arms. The one on the ground chewed her nails to stubs, yet still there was grit under them. Talia's mother had always taken pains to keep herself as clean as possible given substandard conditions, and all League sisters adhered to a strict hygiene standard.

He could smell River's sweat as he smelled the men in the Pit, but at the same time it was absolutely different. It seemed almost a natural highlight, that odor - like it belonged to her and her glassy braids. Before the storm made it impossible every heated shower had been for him, and for the first time Bane wondered if she'd missed her bathing ritual. He could not be sorry for it though, not when it gave him the chance to smell and analyze female.

River had claimed she'd seen other men naked, Bane had not forgotten. She'd fornicated; claimed to prefer weather-beaten males. As a League soldier Bane had taken a vow of chastity, the only female body he'd ever seen naked, the child version of Talia when he'd cleaned and tended the small thing.

"I am scarred. My flesh is worn. I am not pretty."

River only groaned in sleep and turned so her back might feel the heat of the flames.

Whatever had possessed him to argue his aptitude as a male under her qualifications was silenced. Bane felt foolish; unsure why he had spoken.

But then why shouldn't he. He had been excommunicated, his vows rescinded.

The sleeping shrew became more interesting. After all why should he not partake? Why should he seclude himself under an order who'd rejected him and a master who'd betrayed him? From that moment forward there were no rules but those he chose to make.

He would do as he pleased.

For the first time in many years he felt a twinge and looked down at his crotch as if such a thing were astounding. More blood pumped to quell the anger and hurt of rejection, but not enough. Half hard, Bane looked back at the sleeping monster and hated her for knowing things he did not.

* * *

><p>After sleeping on the chair, then the floor, River was sore and stiff. She wanted her couch back but the wail of wind slapping against the logs of her house made it clear the storm had not thought of letting up. The loud breathing thing that stole half her air had soured on her.<p>

He was always in the way.

If the fucker bumped her one more time she was going to poison his food.

"Why do you have no husband?"

It was questions like that that were making homicide far more appealing. "I'm a lesbian."

"You previously claimed to like men."

Rubbing her temples, River sighed, "I don't need a husband. If anyone in this room needs a husband it's you. Maybe he could even dislodge that stick crammed up your ass."

"I do not care for sexual interactions with men."

That... that very way he spoke so honestly in reaction to her mockery always make her snicker. She just couldn't help it.

"What is funny?"

River flat out giggled. Seeing she had to answer or he would continue with his poking questions, she offered, "But you cook so well... You know, melting snow and adding powder to it until it is far superior to all other melted snow and powder. You, Stranger, are an exemplary housewife."

The man snarled, "I am the male. The greatest! I provide and others follow."

A playful punch hit his arm, the man looking down to where she's struck him as if he could not comprehend the swat.

"Oh, for fuck sake, lighten up. I provided all the food. The meat _I_ killed, the wood _I_ chopped, everything you are sheltered in came from me." River rolled her eyes and walked away muttering, "Guess that makes me the male in your chauvinistic classification of things."

"You would be torn apart in seconds where I came from, small woman - ripped to shreds, screaming. Had you known me you would come running, begging for my shelter."

The comedy was over. River gnawed a nail, hating the way he could color a room and reminding her that he was actually terrifying beyond his bumbling inquiries. "I can take care of myself."

"Not there. There you would die." Bane's answer was matter of fact, the man going back to drying the clean dish she had handed him. "The way you smell would only bring that end sooner."

The psycho's insults were easier to stomach than his eluded to craziness. Handing over the last dish, River glared, held the colorless eyes of the man and said nothing.

His gaze narrowed. "Take your hair from the braids."

"No." River let the plate slip from between them to clatter on the wood floor, walking past.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello friends! I hope you are all enjoying your holiday season. I asked for a puppy for Christmas. I don't think I am going to get one. :P<strong>

**Thank you to all my dear reviewers! It's because of you that I am posting this chapter so soon. I love you guys and gals.**

**On another note, I have been working on the follow-up to Born to be Bred. It is not going to be a oneshot like I originally planned, more like a novella (at least for now) and some parts of it will be dark. What I want to know from you is, what you are hoping to see? **

**One more thing, just in case it wasn't clear the poem was written by the wonderful Robert Frost. Every time I read it it makes me think of Gotham.**


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